The Quest for the Woolen Socks
by aslan1140
Summary: Every Christmas Dumbledore asks for only one thing is that so hard to ask? Inspired from a quote from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's stone. (Quote inside) My first HP fic. FINISHED


**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter, Dumbledore, and all the characters in this fanfiction belong solely to J. K. Rowling even though I do personally believe that she is ruining most of her characters, let alone the plotline especially in the 5th year with Sirius's death, however that is my belief and I still feel like I personally want to strangle her before the sixth one is out. But sadly they do/did belong to her and I do not know her personally so I can continue to write fanfiction with messages like this one so we can start the cult. On with the author's note! 

**Author: **I grew inspiration for this fanfiction in the first book before she messed her characters up. In particular page 214, here is the inspirational quote:

"'Sir- Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?'

'Obviously you have just done so' Dumbledore smiled. 'You may ask me one more thing, however'

'What do you see when you look in the mirror?'

'I? I see myself holding a pair of thick woolen socks.'

Harry stared.

'One can never have enough socks,' said Dumbledore. 'Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.'"

So there ya go, now onward with the story!

* * *

Christmas morning! The teachers met in the usual teacher lounge Dumbledore tried to keep a straight face. But 'tried' is the word that needs to be emphasized. Soon when the presents were given out he was so exited he was practically bouncing off the walls. Christmas was the only time the wise, mysterious old man, lost his controlling stature. It scared the other teachers practically to wits end when he seemed so childish. It made them wonder how old he actually was, or if he had been possessed by one of the child spirits that lurked the castle. However, they had pondered this for almost all of the Christmas's in their teaching carrier and today was no different.

Instead of calmly distributing the presents in a nice orderly fashion, the old wizard jumped into the pile and started digging for any that were addressed to "Albus", "Dumbledore", or "Albus Dumbledore", "Headmaster", "Professor Dumbledore", or the most famous, "Professor Albus Dumbledore". The teachers, who were accustomed to this, sidestepped from the pile and watched fascinatingly as he wrapped each one like a werewolf on a rampage. Only one teacher looked back with a sickening frightful look, wondering if the Headmaster was sick in any way. This teacher was none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, the new teacher of course. As the others watched they could very discreetly hear him babbling about 'He's lost his mind! In MY next book I shall be sure to include this so action can be taken immediately against this child for a headmaster I even wonder how he got the job…'

When Dumbledore would open a package he would mutter a quiet 'thanks' to whomever and sling the package in the direction of the door. This also happened many years, and the teachers had learned not to stand near the door or one's face would soon be bombarded with the hundreds of items, particularly the thick thousand paged books he received. All had learned this, except of course for Gilderoy who was still muttering about how great his next book would be etc. Of course, since it was not crowded, he was standing by the door drowning in nonsense. He was so caught up with himself and his last punch line that he missed seeing the 1,540,764 page book titled _The Wizarding Worlds most extravagant idiots of all time. _Soon he was lying on the floor twitching in the most awkward ways as more books, dolls, candy, and statues slammed into him instantly giving him a formal burial. Some of the teachers would later debate that it was no mere circumstance that this was the first book to hit him, others did not care whatsoever.

When the pile on Gilderoy had reached to the point to where it touched the ceiling, Dumbledore stood up, resolved that it was over and simply stated.

"Minerva? It is now your turn." He went to the outside of the circle and presents were finally distributed the normal way. For the rest of the day Dumbledore had a grave, sullen look tied to his face. _Next Christmas _he thought.

* * *

A year past by and soon it was again the time for winter festivities. Like clockwork Dumbledore strutted into the room and pounced into the pile. This year, Remus Lupin had watched the other teachers and curtiously stood next to Servous who held the look of disgust he achieved every Christmas morning, which in fact was not so different from his normal hawk-eyed glare when he was teaching potions to a Gryffindor classroom, particularly Harry's.

The annual ritual was again established as the gifts flew to the door. Soon it was over and Albus, who now held an awfully disappointed face stated,

"It is now your turn Minerva," and he took his usual place in the back of the room.

* * *

Four seasons passed and soon the Christmas trees were up to their full glory once more. And again the Headmaster threw himself into the pile and desperately unwrapped present by present, and slinging them across the room just to grasp another and do it all over again. Mad eye Moody (or Barty Crouch to be truthful) had stood next to the door, not in FRONT of the door, but next to it, where soon an exotic werewolf's dried paw (sent by Sirius himself) smacked him upside the head making his magic eye roll on the floor. Frankly no one cared as he slammed to the floor and started crawling toward the door where the eye had rolled to. Being half-blind and paying attention to the eye, he did not see the book fly over him just to smash him directly in the head. The eye would later be found rolling towards his office, where in fact the real Mad eye Moody was unconscious in.

Sadly Dumbledore stood up when he was done stockpiling his gifts at the door. "Minerva… It is your turn," His face was so grave it even scared Snape. Albus took his normal place by the door and waited patiently for it to all finish.

* * *

In what seemed record breaking time, the turtle doves could be found singing on the evergreen trees once more. Like every year previously, Dumbledore attacked the poor presents. As he began to fling them towards the door that had somehow survived all these hardships, Umbridge smiled in her froggy way and took notes on the other side of the room. That year seemed to be different as the heavier presents 'ricocheted' off the wall and smacked into Dolores's head, at least that is the account Minerva McGonagall would describe, others would state that she was picking up the presents and throwing them at the frog teacher. Neither of these could be proven however, so no one was charged with anything.

Dumbledore finished with an angry glare this time as he roughly said "Your…Turn… MINERVA!" This time he stormed to the other side of the room.

* * *

This tradition continues to this day and still many ponder at why he acts this way at Christmas. Only the boy who lived has ever heard the answer, a rumor that he just wants a simple pair of socks. Who could believe that? Some parents say that every year Dumbledore gets older and older and soon will retire, I guess we shall soon see if they are correct…

* * *

**Author: **So did you like? It was my first Harry Potter story, and it will probably be my last. Harry Potter is hard to write about unless you are doing past or future and both of which are not entirely clear. On that note, I hope you guys have a great summer! TTFN! 


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